


Are you for dinner?

by GreenQueenofClubs



Series: The city is not a concrete jungle. It is a human zoo. [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exasperated Neighbour!Flint, Flint teaches Silver how to cook, M/M, Terrible Cook!Silver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenQueenofClubs/pseuds/GreenQueenofClubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James certainly wouldn't consider himself an amazing cook, and definitely not a patient teacher, but someone had to prevent the idiot next door from setting their apartment building on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are you for dinner?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:  
> Every time you cook you set off the smoke alarm so you know what I’m just going to teach you how to cook.

 

BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING BING

James startled up in his bed, sheets falling down to pool around his waist. For a few seconds, he stayed petrified, his brain still too sleep-addled to grasp what had woken him up.

Until the alarm threatening to drill into his skull suddenly brought him back to his senses.

“Aaaaaargh!” he shouted, jumping to his feet.

Without a second thought, he slammed out of his apartment and stomped to his neighbour’s door.

The apartment had previously been rented by a notary named Dufresne, but a few weeks ago someone else moved in after he left. James hadn’t bothered finding out who.

The someone turned out to be a man a few years younger than James with a mop of curly hair dangling around his face who opened his door gingerly a few seconds after James banged on it hard enough for it to rattle.

“I’m terribly sorry about the alarm, I-” the young man started to say, but Flint simply shouldered him out of the way, pushing into the apartment. All the windows were open in an effort to clear the smoke, and he could spy the remnants of _something_ charred at the bottom of a pan in the sink.

“Um, what are you doing?” The man asked him gingerly, following at a safe distance.

“It’s the third time you’ve got the smoke alarm to ring _this week_ and I really need to _fucking_ sleep, so I’m going to show you how to properly cook whatever this fucking mess was supposed to be, than you’re going to enjoy your meal in fucking silence so the rest of us can get on with the rest of our lives.” James growled, stepping into the kitchen.

“Aye aye Captain!” The man quipped, rolling back and forth on the ball of his feet. When James threw him a glare over his shoulder, he simply grinned in answer. Somehow James’ aggressive explanation apparently satisfied and reassured him enough to gain back his good humor. He seemed absolutely fine with having an unknown pissed off man invading his apartment, and his easy-going smile threw James off balance for a moment.

“What the fuck was that supposed to be?” James asked with a disdainful jerk of his chin toward the pan.

“Umm, pork loin?” The man said, shrugging.

“How the fuck did you cremate pork loin?” James demanded, appalled.

“Well, the center wouldn’t cook, so I turned up the heat, but then I got distracted because one of my friend is having girlfriend troubles so I had to talk to her, and then, well, the alarm rang.” The man offered with a vaguely sheepish grin.

James blinked at him a few times before rolling his eyes.

“Do you have something else to cook?” He asked.

“I have another loin?” the man said.

“Why the fuck would you buy two pork loins?” James asked, incredulous.

“Well, in case it escaped your notice, I’m not exactly a good cook.” The man said cheerfully.

James stared at him again. God save him, he was living next to a ridiculous idiotic madman.

“That’s why take out’s for.” He said slowly.

“Ah, but that would be giving up.” The man answered, moving to the fridge to take out the second loin he actually had in his possession. James grabbed it out of his hand before he could ruin it by some kind of disastrous magic trick.

Without another word, he started to rummage through the cupboards, digging out a decent if scattered collection of spices and herbs.

“Do you have another pan?” he asked as he started to mix a dry rub.

“Yep.” The idiot answered, moving to take out a second identical pan. The man so expected to ruin his first attempts that he seemingly bought everything in double. James rolled his eyes but refrained himself from commenting.

“Something to go in the oven?” James asked again.

“Sure?” he said, hesitantly, taking out a tray as well. At least he was well equipped. “Why do you need that?”

“Because the proper way to cook pork loin is to sear it in the pan _then_ finish cooking it in the oven. Otherwise, the outside will burn long before the inside cooks.” James answered blandly, tasting his spice mix.

“Uh. That would have been useful to know twenty minutes ago.” The man said, hopping to sit on the counter next to where James was working, looking at him curiously.

“You’re not going to ask my name?” He asked, leaning over.

“Will it make you a competent cook if I did?” James asked drily, refusing to move.

“Well, in the-”

“Then no, I don’t give a fuck. Now look at the spice mix, if you don’t have any seasoning or you do it wrong, you’ll be stuck with bland meat.” James interrupted, stuffing the various jars he used under the man’s nose so he could look at them.

“That would be a shame, I only put the best quality of meat in my mouth.” The man drawled. James looked over, frowning, just in time to see the man look him up and down slowly as he took the spices from him.

Suddenly realising he had leapt directly out of bed to get there, and thus was only wearing a thin pair of sleep pants, Flint felt the tip of his ears burn.

He couldn’t figure out what to answer to that, so he turned back to his spices, taking out the loin and covering it with the rub, massaging so the taste would permeate the meat, grateful for something to do with his hands.

“You’re good at this.” The sentence could have been an innocent one had the man not leaned forward into James’ eyesight with a filthy grin.

“I haven’t burnt down the building yet, but then again you set a pretty low bar.” He snapped, feeling twitchy under the man’s roaming eyes. The man seemed to recoil a bit at that, looking back up at James cautiously.

James felt bad for a second. After all, the man might have been an annoyance by constantly setting off the alarm, but James was the one who barged in his apartment uninvited.

“Do you have anything to eat with it?” He asked in a more even tone.

“Uh, I was planning to boil potatoes?” The man offered, still uncertain. Of course he would _boil_ potatoes. At least he wouldn’t burn them that way.

“What about your vegetables?” James asked. The blank look he got in return was answer enough, and he sighed. First, he needed to start cooking the pork.

“You need to seal the meat by placing it very quickly in a very hot pan. You just want to perimeter to be cooked so the juices stay in.” He told the man, who was standing by his shoulder, watching his every move intently. “Once that’s done, you place it in the plate and put it in the oven for about 25 minutes.”

“And then? What kind of magic voodoo trick am I missing to satisfy the Cooking Gods?” The man asked as James closed the door of the oven.

“Then you let it rest on the counter for a few minutes and you can eat it.” James said.

“That’s it? Here I was expecting I would have to strip naked and dance around a bit.” The man quipped.

“It’s cooking, not potion making.” James answered.

With a sigh, he opened the fridge. After some rummaging, he found some old lettuce and apples, and enough olive oil and vinegar in the pantry to make a decent salad. He let the man take care of the potatoes. That was probably safe.

Probably.

Once the pot was bubbling happily, James and his neighbour found themselves standing in the small apartment kitchen without anything to do. His idleness suddenly reminded James that he was shirtless and not wearing underwear. The way the man’s eyes kept falling down to his chest was undeniably pleasantly flattering, but he nevertheless found himself rolling his shoulders with unease and fidgeting. The young man smiled widely at him.

“Thank you, for helping me. It was most appreciated. Though I have so say, it would be a pity to eat such a feast alone…” He trailed off, his mouth stretching into a cocky grin. James felt himself blush and cursed himself for it. It had been a while since someone flirted this blatantly at him, and the man might have been an idiot, but he was a cute one.

“I have to sleep.” He stuttered out.

“Woooooh there tiger, I’m not easy! I don’t put out on a first date!” The man grinned, raising up his hands in mock offense. “It’s only about enjoying the result of your hard work.” He finished, his eyes contradicting his words as they once again danced their way across James’ chest.

James flushed even darker, knowing it was stretching well lower than his collarbone, and he cursed his ginger complexion. He straightened himself, glaring half-heartedly at his neighbour.

“I have to go.” He snapped drily before turning on his heels and walking back to his own apartment, seething all the while.

 

OOOOOOO

 

A few days later, James came home late, dragging his feet sluggishly too his door. He loved being an archeologist, at least the part where he got to go on expeditions and discover historical treasures, but the bureaucracy and politics involved to get a project off the ground was the bane of his existence.

If he had to storm out of another meeting with Richard Fucking Guthrie because the man refused to help him deal with the Spanish government, he might find a way to shoot the man.

Just as he was about to turn his key to enter his apartment, an off-putting smell wafted up to his nose. James paused for a second, knowing without a doubt that the odor was emanating from his neighbour’s apartment.

He also knew that if he didn’t intervene, he wouldn’t have time to make it to his bed before the alarm went off.

With an exhausted sigh, he tore himself away from his door.

His neighbour opened the door a few seconds after he knocked, surprise quickly fading into tentative relief.

“Good evening?” he tried, grinning sheepishly at James. James kept his mouth shut, firmly decided not to embarrass himself this time, simply raising a wry eyebrow at the smaller man.

“I see you are in a talkative mood tonight.” The man drawled without dropping his smile, and he stepped aside, sparing James the effort of pushing him out of the way.

“What are you making?” James asked in a rough voice.

“Realistically? Dog food for a very, very desperate street mutt.” The young man said with a smile. James stopped, staring at him for a second, uncomprehending how someone could be so cheerful when faced with his own continued incompetence.

“And in an ideal world where you are not an idiot?” James asked.

“Salmon fillets.” The man offered. James paused again, considering him. For someone with destructive culinary abilities, the man had pretty expensive tastes.

When James stepped into the kitchen, he was relieved to find that this time he had almost made it in time. The fillet was definitely too overcooked to be eaten as is, but if the man removed the slightly burnt parts, he could still use it in a sandwich or a salad.

Without being prompted, the man skipped to the fridge, taking out another contained with two untouched fillets.

James had never seen anyone come in and out of the man’s apartment. Why would he buy so much food when he was eating by himself?

“So, Captain, what are we making today?” The man asked, far too chipper for his own good. Wasn’t city life supposed to suck out everyone’s capacity for happiness?

Yet he didn’t seem to grate James’ already frayed nerves. James was uneasy about that development.

“Chicken breasts.” James answered wryly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The other man stared for a second before chuckling, delighted.

“A sense of humor! Will wonders never cease! What do we need for this lavish dinner, nay, this banquet, oh my Captain?” he asked, gesturing grandly at his kitchen.

“Olive oil, lemons, capers, shallots.” James enumerated as he took out the fish. His neighbour bounced around the kitchen, collecting ingredients from all sorts of illogical places. Who put the oil next to the rice and the lemons in the cheese drawer?

“I don’t have capers.” The young man announced as he plopped everything in front of James. James looked up for a second, checking the ingredients and nodded. He told the young man to pre-heat the oven and bring him the same cooking plate as last time.

“What produces do you have?” he asked.

“Green beans? I was also planning to make rice.” The young man answered again, bringing the said products to James. Despite being in his own kitchen, the man seemed more than happy just to fetch everything James asked for and watch him work.

While he put the salmon in the oven and got started on the beans, James gave his neighbour instructions on how to cook the rice.

“So, James, tell me about yourself.” The neighbour asked cheekily while he filled a pot with water. James froze in the middle of checking in with the beans, turning warily toward the man.

“Come on, man, don’t give me that look. The old man down the hall told me your name this morning when I told him I’d met you.” He said, rolling his eyes at James’ suspicious look.

James grunted, displeased, going back to work. He didn’t like being at a disadvantage and he liked _admitting_ he was at a disadvantage even less. Lastly, he very much didn’t like that his neighbour had been gossiping about him to Hornigold of all people.

“For fuck’s sake, if it’s bothering you so much, just ask me my name.” The man prodded, poking him in the shoulder.

James glared at him.

“Listen, Little Shit-” he started.

“Are you really just going to call me Little Shit instead of asking me my name?” Little Shit pipped up incredulously.

“-I’m just staying until the beans are ready and I’m sure you won’t burn down the building while I sleep, then I’m gone.” He finished like the young man hadn’t spoken. Both the fish and the rice had timers, so Little Shit should be able to handle them.

“What? No, that’s out of the question.” Little Shit answered, voice suddenly completely serious.

“I beg your pardon?” James asked, taken aback.

“I’m sorry, James, but you look dead on your feet. I’m not letting you go back to your apartment to reheat yourself some sad leftovers after you cooked me a full meal. If you don’t want to eat here, it’s fine, but at least wait until I can pack you your half of the food.” He said, turning away so James couldn’t see his face as he talked.

James stared for a few seconds, before admitting that the pasta leftovers he had planned to eat would taste quite depressing after smelling the salmon and everything else around it for half an hour. Gingerly, he leaned on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as Little Shit opened the door of the oven to check on the salmon.

“How do you know when it’s cooked properly?” He asked, dropping the subject easily, throwing James a quick look over his shoulder.

“If there’s white stuff appearing on it, it’s overcooked.” James said.

“So you don’t know what’s going on until it’s too late? That’s stupid.” Little Shit scoffed, closing the oven.

“Yes, how terribly rude of salmons to not evolve for your culinary convenience.” James drawled, smirking at him.

“Absolutely unacceptable. If beer cans can figure out a system to tell me if it’s appropriately cooled, salmons should have the decency to help me enjoy them properly. At least then they wouldn’t have died for nothing!” Little Shit exclaimed, brushing his hand through his hair, making the curls bounce enticingly.

“I believe the salmons would argue that you are not the center of their universe.” James said, forcing his eyes away from Little Shit’s ridiculous hair, should he give in the temptation to tuck a few unruly strands behind his ears.

Fuck he was tired.

“Blasphemy.” Little Shit smirked, but he was distracted from whatever he would have said as the timer for the salmon rang. James took the opportunity to check up on the beans.

Soon enough everything was ready. Little Shit went to grab himself a plate and a Tupperware from James, but after a considering look at the man lounging against his counter, seemed to change his mind and took out two plates instead.

James surprised himself by not minding the change of plans, not matter how much he had wanted to be alone an hour earlier. Without complaining, he took a seat opposite Little Shit at the small kitchen table when the man put down his plate there.

There wasn’t much conversation over dinner.

That wasn’t as much because James didn’t want to talk as it was because Little Shit kept making obscene moans every few bites, like the simple meal was somehow the best thing he had ever tasted, and James was too tired to be able to both control his libido and have a sensible train of thought.

He left Little Shit to do the dishes with a nod and a murmured “Good night” and he finally crashed into bed, knocked out by a full belly and a warmth under his skin he wasn’t used to.

 

OOOOOO

 

Two days later, James opened his door to find a bright orange post-it note stuck to it, with a surprisingly beautifully calligraphed note.

‘Hey, I’m running out of ideas about what to cook. Any suggestions?’

It wasn’t signed, but James didn’t need to be a genius or fully awake to know the Little Shit had left it there.

James considered just throwing it in the trash and leave his neighbour to figure it out for himself. He was a grown ass man damnit, he should be able to feed himself.

James turned back in his apartment, grabbing one of his own post-it note. He scribbled down on it, not really caring if he was readable, and slapped it on the Little Shit’s door as he passed in front of it.

“Good morning to you too!” He heard a familiar voice call after him just as he turned the corner. James didn’t look back but wasn’t able to keep himself from smiling, just for a second.

When he got home that evening, he dropped his bag just inside his door before he made his way next door. There wasn’t any sign of danger yet, but James wouldn’t take any risks. After all, this time he could be charged as an accomplice.

The Little Shit answered the door suspiciously fast after James’ sharp knocks. He beamed at James, pushing his curly hair behind his ears.

“Good evening James.” The Little Shit said, just a bit too breathless to be properly smooth. James resisted the urge to smile at his antics, opting for an arch eyebrow instead.

With a cocky grin and a flourished bow, the Little Shit stepped aside to let him in the hall. James noticed the green note he had left that morning stuck on the wall next to the door. Little Shit snatched it, waving it in James’ face.

“Sirloin Steak, period. Yellow potatoes, period. Mushrooms, period. You’re truly incredible, James, you know that? You even manage to be rude on a post-it note.” Little Shit threw over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen.

For someone accusing James of rudeness, he seemed thoroughly unbothered, and even a bit amused, by it. James should be annoyed.

Instead he followed Little Shit to the kitchen.

“Take out the meat from the fridge, it needs to come back to room temperature before we cook it.” He said calmly as he moved toward the bag of potatoes left on the counter.

“I thought you never left meat unattended, lest it goes bad?” Little Shit asked, nevertheless doing as James asked.

“You don’t. But for fifteen minutes before you cook it, at least for steaks, you need to leave it out. Otherwise, when you cook it, the center will still be cold by the time the outside it well-done.” James answered.

“That actually makes sense.” Little Shit answered brightly, visibly happy to find logic in cooking.

“Take out a pot, put some water and salt in it.” James instructed as he started to clean and dice the potatoes.

“I thought you didn’t like boiling things?” John asked, remembering the rant James went on a few nights back.

“Generally, I don’t, but it’s the best way to cook potatoes to be mashed, since we want them to be soft.” James answered easily.

When Little Shit brought the pot to him, James dropped the potatoes in it, explaining why yellow potatoes were the best choice for purees while white potatoes were ideal for fries. He then moved on explaining the proper way to use a knife as they cut onions and garlic and mushrooms. He told Little Shit the difference between the way herbs tasted and what should be used with what.

He talked and talked and talked himself hoarse yet never felt the urge to stop and storm away as he usually did after prolonged interactions with another human being.

Little Shit kept surprising him by asking him relevant questions one after the other. As the evening went by, he seemed to be more and more at ease, moving easily with and around James, never in his way, seldom where James expected to find him, often somehow exactly where he needed to be. Twice he even manage to hand James a utensil he hadn’t had the chance to ask for yet.

Every time, a twinkle would dance in his eyes as he grinned, sparkling all the way to James’ belly.

It was most irritating, and yet James wanted to see it again. To be heard and understood this way, it was as intoxicating as he remembered it being.

He let Little Shit oversee the cooking of the mushrooms while he himself took care of the steaks, enjoying the way they sizzled and popped. He kept an eye on the man as they stood side by side in front of the oven, but for once he seemed more focused on his task than on James.

Quickly, too quickly, where had time flown, everything was ready. For a moment, James wondered if he was supposed to leave, half of him wanting to flee from what another dinner in this apartment would mean.

The other half was drawn to the table like a helpless fish hooked by the heavenly smells and the way the artificial lights kitchens seemed to make Little Shit’s curls dance merrily.

The other man set two plates on the table. Two plates, when had they decided James would stay? How did he presume do much, how dared he?

Did he feel it too, the way James’ belly danced a waltz up and down his torso?

“Are we really doing this again?” Little Shit asked as he sat down, rolling his eyes. “Let’s make it easy. Here, steak. Over there, no steak. James, I paid for your food, the least you can do is eat it.” He said before stuffing a forkful of potatoes in his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned in the back of his throat and well…

James was not that strong of a man. He sat down, stiff and unyielding but undeniably surrendering to the siren calls of home cooked dinners and mesmerizing blue eyes.

 

OOOOOO

 

It became a routine. A few days a week, James would either open his door to find a note asking for input or come home to bizarre smells and suspicious noises in his neighbour’s apartment, and he would fly to the rescue.

For his own peace of mind of course. Fire alarms were very aggravating.

It didn’t have anything to do with the way Little Shit’s eyes would light up every time he would successfully follow James’ instructions.

Or the way he’d snark and mock James’ fussiness over the handling of certain ingredients.

Or the fact that for the first time since Thomas and Miranda had to move back to England, James had someone else to eat with on a regular basis.

James kept telling himself that even as he started opening recipe books he hadn’t touched in years, looking for new things to teach the Little Shit.

 

James didn’t even know his real name yet, but he knew more about the man than he’d bothered to learn about people he’d been working with for over a decade. He knew the man was a writer, a good one at that. James knew he was good with his hands, and, despite his first impression and his abysmal cooking skills, extremely clever.

He knew the Little Shit loved salty and spicy foods but abhorred bitterness. He knew the man knew way too much about economical politics of the West Indies. He knew he loved to tease a laugh or a growl out of James.

James knew he could sing reasonably well, dance very poorly but enthusiastically and talk circles around him with such a skill and deviousness Thomas would be impressed.

James knew Little Shit better than he had anyone since the Hamilton’s, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that notion.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the urge he had of going to Little Shit’s every night, even when there was no indication of impending cooking disasters or implicit post-it invitations.

He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it, and it made his skin crawl.

Which was probably why he didn’t tell Little Shit when he was sent on an unexpected two weeks long reconnaissance trip for his next dig. Maybe if he went cold-turkey from the other man, he could finally scramble his thoughts back into some kind of understandable order.

 

It didn’t work. James would keep himself busy during the day, the harsh sunlight and demanding co-workers and assistants leaving him no choice, but dinner time would always bring back thoughts of the way Little Shit’s knees would brush with his underneath the small kitchen table when they ate, or the way he still moaned appreciatively at every meal they cooked, even after a month.

James would think of the way Little Shit would press against his side when he was cooking to get a better view of what he was doing.

James would think of the heated looks Little Shit would send his way sometimes, eyes raking over James’ body like he would much rather have _him_ for dinner than whatever they were preparing.

James wasn’t an idiot. He knew Little Shit was just his type. Too smart for his own good, well-read, well-spoken, with bright eyes and a smile that could take James’ breathe away.

He also knew that while he needed a long time to let people in, he was far too quick to fall for them afterward.

He could feel it now, squeezing between his ribs, the desire of _being_ with the Little Shit, not just for one night. Not just for sex.

There was no way the other man wanted the same thing. No way would someone young and bright and beautiful like him be ready to settle with their older irritable neighbour. The only reason they knew each other at all was because James decided to be an asshole and force himself into the man’s apartment to insult his cooking.

No, no matter how alluring the Little Shit was, James would keep away from now on. The man was coming around as mildly competent in the kitchen, at least enough that he shouldn’t threaten to burn down the building anymore. It was better this way. James would stop giving the man hopes of meaningless sex, and stop giving himself hope of a meaningful relationship.

Little Shit would probably be relieved anyway, getting rid of him and all his criticising and harsh comments.

Of course, because his new resolution was not making him miserable enough, he caught a violent cold in the last few days of his trip. How did he catch a cold when the temperature never went lower than 25°C?

Fuck if he knew. Karma, probably.

 

Coming back to his apartment was a benediction, James thought as dropped his keys on the little table next to the door, taking off his jacket and dropping it on the back of his couch. He could only think of taking a scalding shower and slipping into bed for the next week, to try and sleep his feelings away.

Of course, that meant that as soon as he took his shirt off, someone knocked on the door. He froze, considering just pretending he hadn’t heard anything.

“James? I heard you come in, asshole, don’t try to pull some shit with me.” Little Shit’s voice rung out, sounding annoyed and a little hurt.

That made two of them, then.

James stalked to his door and swung it open with a growl.

“What do you want?” He snapped.

“Jesus, you look like a corpse reanimated by an incompetent necromancer, are you sick?” Little Shit asked, his glare melting into a concerned frown.

“What do you want?” James asked again, refusing to let Little Shit’s worry mellow him down.

“Well, I’d like to know where you disappeared for the past weeks, and why you came back looking like a cheap George Romero knock off. Amongst other things.” He drawled, taking a step forward.

James resisted the instinct of leaning toward him, resisted the urge to fold himself under the Little Shit’s chin to receive the warmth and comfort that might fill the dark wound under his ribs.

He forced himself to take a step back, glaring at the Little Shit.

“I was away for work.” He snapped.

“You couldn’t have told me?” Little Shit asked, glaring right back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why the fuck would I have done that?” James sneered, curling his lips.

He saw Little Shit recoil, just for a second, a terrible, excruciating second, like James had hit him. He looked lost and confused and hurt and James hated himself, but he had to do it. He wanted more, more than the man would ever be willing to offer him, so he had to end it now.

He would end it now, and live with cruel fantasies of coming home to someone who cared every night, of wrapping his arms around Little Shit from behind, pushing his mesmerizing mess of curly hair aside so he could kiss his neck, of being warm and safe and loved and happy.

He would spare Little Shit the self-doubt of wondering if he had led James on, and the hurt of having to let him down, of telling him he really didn’t feel that way, sorry.

He died a bit inside as he saw Little Shit retreat behind a hard façade that James hadn’t ever seen, but felt heartbreakingly well-practiced.

He watched as a bitter smile curled the corners Little Shit’s mouth.

“Well, you seemed to have a vested interest in not letting my _idiocy_ compromise the safety of the building, I figured you would have thought it too dangerous to leave me alone.” He spat.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, find yourself cooking classes if you want to stop being a nuisance.” James sneered.

He would have slammed the door, but Little Shit was still standing in the doorway, and James couldn’t even bring himself to push him out so he could close it.

Instead, he turned around, stalking back to his bathroom and slammed _that_ door, hoping the man would get the message.

Hearing the front door click was torture. He had to lean on the vanity for a minute, fighting to breathe, fighting to keep himself from shedding tears, fighting to think.

Well fucking done, James.

You’re alone again.

 

OOOOOO

 

James managed to fall in an uneasy sleep, curling up under a thick blanket, shivering through his fever.

He awakened a few hours later, after the sun had set. He still felt exhausted, and needed a few minutes to locate what had woken him up, until he heard banging from the inside of his apartment.

James climbed up on unsteady legs, trudging warily toward the sound.

He froze in the doorway, as the sound turned out to be Little Shit inspecting one of his cupboard.

James must have made some kind of sound of surprise, because the man spun toward him.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Little Shit said, like there was nothing amiss.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” James asked, sounding a lot more confused than irritated like he had wanted.

“Well, you looked like a Picasso painting of the corpse bride, and you’re just enough of an asshole to let yourself starve to death rather than ask for help, so I figured I might come over and cook for _you_ for a change.” Little Shit said, pulling out a pan and a cooking plate from under the oven.

“You’re not cooking in my-” James tried to growl, but he started coughing in the middle of the sentence.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m not going to burn down your precious kitchen. Just sit before you fall down. Read one of your ridiculously large collection of books or something.” Little Shit answered, waving a distracted hand toward James’ bookcase. James was envious that he managed to sound truly exasperated without sound like a mother hen.

Not that James was doing what he asked regardless, but the effort was commendable.

“I told you to get out of my apartment.” He said instead, sounding confused again. He blamed the sickness for not being able to muster the appropriate aggravation at the Little Shit’s antics.

“As a matter of fact, you did not. You were simply incredibly rude to me, which, in my great magnanimity I am willing to overlook as a symptom of whatever plague you brought back with you.” He quipped, throwing a grin over his shoulder at James.

That was- That was a lot more than James deserved even before he yelled at the man and made a dick of himself.

“Listen-” he stopped himself. Calling him Little Shit out loud now felt fundamentally wrong.

“Oh for the love of- My name is John, you stubborn prick, John Silver.” _John_ said, rolling his eyes at him, before going back to whatever he was doing.

“John. I don’t need your help, so-” James started to say.

“Yes, yes you do. I assure you, I won’t tell anyone you’re not the fearsome invincible manly man they all think you are. Now can you sit down? If I have to keep an eye on you on top of the food, I might actually burn something.” John said, voice calm and reasonable and James couldn’t help but do as he asked.

He sat himself at one of the dining table chair rather than the more comfortable sofa. To be able to intervene whenever Little Shit would screw up, he told himself.

He didn’t sound very convincing even to himself.

“How the fuck did you get in?” James grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Without turning around, John fished something out of his back pocket, and threw it at him. James’ keys bounced harmlessly on his chest before clinking on the table.

“You stole my keys?” James asked, incredulously, staring at the offending objects.

“Why, is barging uninvited in someone’s house only acceptable when _you’re_ the one doing it?” John asked sharply, hands stilling for a second before returning to whatever they were doing.

James was about to retort cuttingly, when John’s tone registered with his slowed brain. Despite his concern over James’ well-being, the other man was still upset over what had happened earlier.

Fuck.

He closed his mouth with a click, a twist of self-loathing curling in his gut. Why was John there? Why was he acting like he cared?

James looked back down at the keys, trying to remember what being cared for felt like. Thomas would do it, whenever James would feel ashamed of who he was, and Miranda would do it when he came back bruised after picking a fight.

He couldn’t remember his parents ever doing it, but they must have.

Why was John here? He couldn’t want sex that desperately?

“Where are you?” John’s soft voice dragged him out of his head, and he looked up to see the man on the other side of the table, bracing himself to lean forward, his face a foot away from James’.

Looking into his bright blue eyes full of something that _couldn’t_ be genuine concern, James found himself mute, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“I see.” John said lowly, like he sincerely understood and it both saddened and frustrated him. With a sigh, he went back into the kitchen, to keep an eye on whatever he was cooking. James’ nose was too clogged up to properly smell anything, but what little he did catch seemed surprisingly pleasant.

For a moment, he was terrified that the silence would stretch, that everything he couldn’t put into words for fear of making them real would permeate the air until it choked them.

“So, you know Billy, the tall blond guy that lives one floor down?” Of course, that would have been underestimated John’s blabbermouth. If James thought he could talk circles around anyone when they were arguing, it was nothing next to his capacities of storytelling.

As a matter of fact, James hadn’t known Billy that lived one floor down, nor the grumpy old sailor Degroot one floor up, or most of their other neighbours. James had never been fond of human interaction until forced into it.

Yet, after hearing John talk about them, he felt like he had known them for years, down to their littlest kirks. He almost believed he could pick them out from a crowd. John’s narration made them feel alive and _real_ in a way he wasn’t sure they would if he ever actually met them.

James found his mind wandering again, but this time instead of floating away from John, he was traveling _with_ him.

“Here we go!” John offered with a flourish, sliding a plate in front of James. James looked down, frowning. He hadn’t even noticed John was done cooking.

“Is this pork loin?” he asked, taking up a fork to poke skeptically at the perfectly cooked meat.

“Well, I figured since it was the only meal you refused to share, it’d be like the good old days.” John smirked at him, cutting a piece of meat and stuffing it happily in his mouth.

Gingerly, James followed his lead.

The moan that escaped his mouth when he bit in the meat was definitely not PG. He felt his eyes flutter shut to properly appreciate the delicious taste and perfect texture of the pork. He could only imagine how heavenly it would all be if he wasn’t sick.

When he opened his eyes, John was staring at him with proud satisfied eyes and a visible blush on the top of his cheeks.

“By all means, James, tell me how you feel about it.” He quipped, taking another bite.

“You can’t cook.” James said slowly, staring at John.

“Well, your mouth obviously disagree with you.” John grinned, looking down at his plate.

“You can’t cook, I’ve seen it.” James repeated, incredulous.

“You’ve shown me how to do this yourself!” John answered, playing innocent. James could feel agitation in his posture, however.

“A month ago! You have demonstrated multiple times since then that you can’t cook unsupervised.” James said.

He cut himself a piece of potato, because the pork thing might just be a fluke. He also turned out to really hungry.

 

No, the potatoes were impeccable as well.

James noticed John was definitely blushing now, and avoiding his eyes.

“Have you been pretending you didn’t know how to cook this whole time?” He asked. He should be a lot more irritated about this possibility than he was.

“No! No, I had honestly no idea how to cook pork loin, or salmon fillets or steaks before you showed me.” John protested, shaking his head.

James had to almost physically force himself to look away from John’s hair.

God he was too sick to be having this conversation.

“But you have been downplaying how good a cook you were coming to be.” James stated slowly. John looked down, very deliberately taking a mouthful of salad.

“Why?” James demanded, needing an answer.

John didn’t try to speak around his mouthful, simply arched an eyebrow at James, like the other man was being particularly dense.

Oh, James thought, falling back in his chair.

Fuck.

“Yeah,” John said, finally swallowing with a dry grin, “I thought I was being obvious.”

“I thought you only wanted a hook up.” James said, and after hearing it out loud, he didn’t even need John’s sardonic snort to realise how stupid it sounded.

“Don’t get me wrong, I would have said yes in a heartbeat if you’d offered. But a guy can take a hint, after the first four times. Why did you think I let you come back if I didn’t want to spend time with you?” John asked.

“I didn’t give you a choice.” James grunted, taking another bite of the pork to ground himself.

“Really? That’s it? I mean, granted, you were forceful the first time you showed up, but you’re telling me you wouldn’t have left if I ever asked you to?” Silver asked, incredulous.

“You mean after I made sure you weren’t putting all of us in danger anymore?” James asked drily, smirking in answer to Silver’s eye roll, “Of course I would have left, I’m not that much of a brute.”

“Then explain to me how I didn’t have a choice.” John asked, wriggling his fork toward James. James had nothing to add to that, and took another bite. He couldn’t help but hum happily as the flavors hit his taste buds.

John smiled proudly again, and apparently satisfied with what he had managed to drag out of James, went back to his own plate.

James didn’t talk again until his plate was cleaned. He leaned back, cocking his head as he examined the other man. John took a few moments to notice, determined as he seemed to be to thoroughly enjoy his meal.

Once he looked back up, however, he took one look at James before rolling his eyes with a fond grin.

“Whatever secrets you’re trying to uncover by staring at the back of my admittedly enviable hair, they would be a lot easier to gain and more reliable if you just asked me.” John said, leaning back to mimic James’ position.

“Will you tell the truth?” James asked. John had the habit of bending the truth around subjects he wasn’t comfortable discussing. Usually, James was more than fine with that, enjoying the clever way John would weave his sentences to not lie while not actually revealing anything. Tonight, however, James felt like anything but the truth might shatter this fragile rope James had finally accepted to throw to John, woven with hopes and this warmth in his chest he refused to name

“That depends how not rude you manage to be when you ask.” John grinned, but his eyes were serious.

“You’re a great cook.” James stated, pausing to try and formulate his thoughts properly.

“I must say, you’re off to a great start.” John smiled, pushing a hand in his hair. James rolled his eyes at the cockiness of the man.

“And yet you know basically nothing of cooking.” He finished, frowning.

“Nothing in there was a question, James.” John said. He wasn’t a man to volunteer information about himself, no matter how ready he was to share.

“You obviously have talent, if you’re able to perfectly replicate a recipe I showed you weeks ago without anything written down. Yet you lack the basic knowledge anyone who’s ever spent any time in a kitchen would possess.” James said. John looked away, eyes downcast.

“Still no question.” He answered, voice low. Almost like he was ashamed.

“Why did you never learn to cook if it so obviously interests you?” James asked at last.

“You take for granted I ever had the opportunity. I lived in foster homes with at least three other _poor little orphans_ and foster parents that work at least two jobs for all of my life. Culinary experimentation wasn’t very high on the list of priorities.” John said evenly, finally looking up at James with challenge in his eyes.

“What did you eat?” was all James found to say. His parents had died when he was very young, but his grand-father had been a decent cook if not an inventive one.

“Readymade, mostly? Anything that was cheap. I can make you chicken noodle soup good enough to make you weep, but fillet mignon or lamb chops? I’d never even seen any in real life before a few months ago.” John said, toying with his utensils.

“When you got published.” James completed, understanding. When he got published, and his first book had been a huge success, John suddenly had more than enough money to buy whatever food he wanted. Hell, he could have eaten at the restaurant every week.

John Silver was a contrary little shit, however, and he had decided to learn how to cook by himself instead.

James nodded slowly, and knocked their ankles together gently. John gave him a wide smile in answer, and pushed himself up to gather the dishes.

James jumped to his feet to help, trying to mask the way he rocked unsteadily on his feet.

John noticed anyway, and he rolled his eyes.

“Praise the Lord, the fearless knight will come and rescue me from the diabolical dishes. If only he could take three steps without falling on his face.” He deadpanned, looking at James’ chair pointedly.

James considered pushing his point, but since he wasn’t convinced he actually could make it three steps without falling down, he relented, sitting back down.

A few minutes later, John was setting the last of dishes in the drying rack. He took one long look at James before sighing.

“Is there anything I could possibly tell you to convince you to go back to bed?” he asked drily, clearly preparing himself to go back to his apartment.

James didn’t answer, rising to his feet instead, hoping his legs would cooperate this time. He slowly walked to John, until their chests were almost touching. He leaned forward slowly, bending his head to accommodate the smaller man.

John covered his mouth with the palm of his head, glaring exasperatedly at James.

“Good try, but no, you dick. You’re not getting anywhere nearer to me until you’ve flushed out whatever karmic virus you caught as a punishment for being a flaming asshole. Come back to see me when you’re not contagious anymore and you can think clearly.” He said, rolling his eyes.

James deflated, shoulders dropping, but he nodded. The last thing he wanted was for John to be sick as well, though he resented the implications that he wanted this only because of his addled mind.

John took one long look at his dejected eyes before sighing heavily. Without removing his hand, he leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, rubbing his nose against James’ for a second before pushing away.

Without further ado, he walked to the door, pausing for a second before leaving.

“If you disappear for another two weeks now, I will hunt you down and force you to eat the most horrible thing I can cook.” He growled.

“Duly noted.” James answered, absolutely serious. He’d seen the worst thing John could cook, and he wasn’t letting those abominations anywhere near his mouth.

 

OOOOOO

 

Sadly, by the next morning, James received a call that informed him he would have to leave for two days, to meet with his sponsors. For a brief second, James considered calling sick, but his fever had broken during the night, and he wanted to keep his sick days for the –hopefully- near future, when he’d get a more enjoyable reason to laze around in bed all day.

Nevertheless, the last thing he wanted was for John to think he’d run away again, so he grabbed a post it.

‘I need to go away for the next couple of days. I should be back by Tuesday. I’ll take care of dinner.’ He wrote, sticking the note to John’s door as he left the building.

The next few days were dull, but they allowed James to flush out the last of his cold without constantly resisting the urge to go next door and kiss the living daylights out of his Little Shit of a neighbour.

Instead he was stuck at boring meetings _daydreaming_ about kissing the living daylights out of John. John. James couldn’t believe someone like the Little Shit had such a mundane name, but it wasn’t as if he was in any position to cast stones himself.

Nevertheless, as promised, James was back by Tuesday, only stopping at the grocery store before making his way home.

It was later than John usually cooked, and James could only hope the other man had decided to wait for him. He resisted the urge to go directly to John’s, instead stopping by his apartment to drop his bag and change his shirt.

He knocked at John’s door, shifting his weight from side to side as he heard someone move behind the door. John opened the door at last, his hopeful expression shifting into a pleased grin when he saw James. He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms.

“Well, I have to admit, I was beginning to think you had left me hanging again. Yet here you are, bearing gifts.” John said calmly, eyes roaming unashamedly over James. James might or might not have chosen the green shirt he knew complimented his shoulders.

Though, looking at the clean black button down and sinfully tight jeans John was wearing, he wasn’t the only one who had dressed to impress.

“Aren’t you coming in?” John asked, drawing James’ eyes back up to his.

“I have been informed I should wait to be invited rather than forcing my way in.” James said, cocking his head down in silent apology. John stared for a moment before rolling his eyes, scoffing.

“Don’t play the idiot, James, it doesn’t suit you. You’re more than welcome to barge in here any time you like.” He said, glaring at James. James went to open his mouth to protest, but John waived an impatient hand at him.

“I know what I said. I was pissed, you were sick, neither of us were at their best. Fuck that. You’ll keep popping up here to scold me, I’ll probably steal your keys again when you’re being an idiot, now come in, you promised me dinner.” He grabbed James by his waistband, drawing him into the apartment with a grin. James followed helplessly, entranced by the way John’s knuckles rubbed against his skin.

Only when they were standing in the kitchen did John let go of him, to James’ great disappointment.

“So Captain, what are we eating tonight?” John asked, leaning on the counter. James had to take a slow breathe lest he just push forward and ravish John right then and there.

James wasn’t sure if this counted as their first date or if they had been ‘dating’ all along, but he would at least make sure he did things right that night.

“Lamb chops with cauliflower.” James answered setting the grocery bag on the counter. John stepped forward to inspect the contents.

“I’ve never had lamb before.” He stated, taking the meat tray.

James didn’t have anything to answer to that, so instead he started cooking, asking John to retrieve everything they would need. James started up the oven and seasoned the meat while John took care of the cauliflower.

Even if he was becoming a remarkable cook, John didn’t have a lot of experience, which meant he was still pretty slow. By the time James had slid the tray with the lamb in the over, John was barely even half way done cutting the cauliflower. James stepped up to him, nominally to check up on his progress, but couldn’t keep himself from softly pushing a hand to the small of John’s back, low enough that the tip of his pinky was bordering inappropriateness.

John made a soft sound at the back of his throat, and he pushed back against the contact, making James’ heart jump. Nevertheless, he seemed to speed up his efforts on the cauliflower, not once stopping to look at James.

He didn’t move away when he was done either, simply putting down his knife and leaning back ever so slightly against James’ hand. James could see the red at the top of his cheek.

“Are you done?” James asked after a minute of immobility.

“Yes.” John said, turning his head to finally look at James.

“Well then, you should get them seasoned and put them in the oven as well.” James said, never moving his hands away.

With a dark look that said he knew exactly what game James was playing, John took one reluctant step away, and James let his hand fall down. John rolled his eyes at him, but stepped out of his way to press his shoulder against James as he passed by him to get to the oven. James clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out.

After spicing the vegetables and closing the oven, John turned back to him.

“What now, Cap?” He asked, regaining his cocky smirk and a twinkle in his eyes.

“The lamb still has to cook for about 15 minutes, and the cauliflower should take about the same. We just have to wait.” James said, cocking his head, eyes never leaving John’s.

“Well, in that case…” John said, slowly walking up to James, eyelids dropping into a leer. James wanted to do the night right, wanted to at least attempt to woo John properly, but if the other man were to kiss him, he knew he would comply without a second thought. He stayed frozen where he was, letting John move up to him, until they were chest to chest. John’s mouth was a breath away, pink and tantalizingly curled around a smile. He reached behind James, to brace himself on the counter most likely and-

“I guess it’s time to set the table, then.” He whispered against James’ lips, and suddenly he was gone, cold air washing over James.

James stumbled backward, unbalanced and confused, until he noticed John had two plates in his hands. A quick look behind him confirmed he had been leaning against the table wear case.

He turned back at John, and the man was smirking widely, cocking an eyebrow.

What a fucking Little Shit.

James growled, but rather than retaliating right away, stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms.

His position meant that every time John needed to grab something for the table, he would need to lean back against James. James couldn’t tell which one of them was more tortured by that, but they were both determined to win this little game now, and they were nothing but competitive.

When John went over to check on the vegetables in the oven, James reached over and tangled his hands in a few of John’s curls that had fallen from behind his ear. He felt John freeze against his knuckles while he marvelled at the softness of the hair, twisting it around his fingers gently, taking care not to tug at Silver’s scalp.

He saw John’s pupils dilate as the man watched him, stock-still. James let the hair slip from his fingers and lowered his hand, knuckles brushing over John’s jaw, neck and collarbone on its way down.

The ring of the timer startled them out of their daze, and John took a step back so James’ could get to the oven.

They moved efficiently to get the food to the table, and soon enough they were seated. As distracting as John’s vocal enjoyment of their food had been before, the awareness and promises that now hung in the air between them meant that James couldn’t help but blush and shift every time John moaned. Which of course the Little Shit noticed and took advantage of.

Every few bites he would let his eyes flutter close in bliss or make an inappropriate sound in appreciation, before looking at James through his lashes with a satisfied grin.

Taking advantage of John’s tiny table, James retaliated by curling a foot around John’s calve. John’s eyes popped open, and he tried to glare as James started rubbing the inside of his ankle then up to his knee, but couldn’t quite get there.

James finished first, pushing his plate away. He stood up as John swallowed his last bite, taking his plate with him in hope that a little bit of distance might clear his head. John didn’t give him a chance though, jumping to him, grabbing the plate and setting it back down on the table with more force than strictly necessary.

“Fuck the dishes.” He growled before throwing his arms around James’ neck and smashing their mouth together.

James groaned and opened his lips right away, grabbing John’s waist and dragging the man to him as his tongue pushed into James’ mouth.

John tasted of thyme and cumin. His devious tongue was already mapping the inside of James’ mouth and it was perfect in a way very few things in James’ life had ever been.

James would have been very happy to just stay there and memorize every bump of John’s mouth, but the Little Shit clearly had other plans, hands dropping from James’ neck to slip under his shirt. James groaned when they pushed against his bare skin and he tore himself away from John’s lips, mouthing at the soft skin under his ear.

“Bedroom.” He grunted, hands holding onto John’s waist even tighter.

“Here I thought you only wanted me for my kitchen.” John’s laugh turned into a moan when James nipped at the sensitive skin for his quip.

John walked them backward, hands still roaming over James’ back as he kicked a door open, and suddenly there was a bed and James was out of patience.

He grabbed John’s face, cradling it gently in his hands and bringing the man back to him, pushing his tongue in John’s mouth. The young man melted against him, fingers curling delightedly against James’ skin.

Without warning, James pushed John backward so he fell on the bed with a yelp, arms and legs flailing around. Before John could regain his senses and berate him for his brusque manners, James smirked down at him and started unbuttoning his shirt. John caught on quickly, and he raised himself on his elbows to get a better view, pupils dilating a bit more with every new inch of skin exposed.

James let the shirt fall to the floor behind him, and took a few seconds to roll his shoulders and flex his arms simply to see John flush and bite his lip.

When his hands fell to his pants, however, John scrambled to his hands and knees. Suddenly he was in front of James, fingers curling under his waist band.

“Let me.” He asked softly, before pressing a tender kiss right where the trail of ginger hair disappeared under the pants.

James shivered and his whispered a “yes” as one of his hands pushed into the mess of John’s hair.

John made quick work of his pants, pushing down his boxers at the same time, lips following his fingers in the search of new unexplored skin. Suddenly James was naked. For a second he thought John would take his cock in his mouth, but after a wet kiss to the tip of it that shook him to his very core, the man fell backward, flopping back on the bed.

James watched for a second, brain reeling to keep up, as John started shedding his own shirt off. Regaining his senses with a growl, James went to crawl on the bed at well.

“No.” John snapped, freezing James.

“No, you watch.” He finished, grinning filthily up at James. James felt his throat go dry and he obeyed, rocking back on his heels. As a reward, John popped upon two more buttons. James made a desperate sound at the back of his throat as John started twisting on the bed, as if pushing against someone that wasn’t there, lithe muscles rippling tantalisingly.

John finally shrugged off his shirt, and started working on his pants, toying with the buttons as he casted coy looks from under his eyelashes. James felt all his air punch out of his lungs when he realised John wasn’t wearing underwear.

Fuck, James needed to get his mouth on the Little Shit _yesterday._

Watching John shimmy out of his pants was a sweet torture, but James stayed rooted where he was, because John had _told_ him too, and after months of being the one dishing out the orders, role reversal was driving James mad with lust.

The second John extended a beckoning hand to him, James was on top of him, kissing his way up to his mouth. John groaned in answer, dragging James to him, hands immediately grabbing the meat of James’ ass, pressing their cocks together.

“Fuck!” They swore together. James couldn’t help but thrust against John a few times before he could get a hold of himself.

“Are you going to fuck me, James?” John whispered wetly against his jaw as he wrapped one leg around James’ hip. James could only growl in answer, sucking at John’s pulse.

“Yeah, you’re going to fuck me tonight. You’ll take me, you’ll pound me in the mattress, make me see stars, I know you can. Then next time, it’ll be my turn, won’t it, James?” John’s voice was hoarse and low and it was driving James insane.

He bent down to suck at John’s nipple, the little nub hardening deliciously in his mouth. The man gasped and arched his back to press against James’ mouth.

“I’ll take you good, I promise, James. Maybe in that kitchen you love so damn much. Maybe I’ll bend you over the table, what you say? Then every time we’d eat there you’d think of me, of us together, of me having you better than anybody else ever will.” John gasped, nails digging in James’ back. James growled and straightened back up, mouth at John’s ear.

“I already do.” He whispered and John keened, catching James’ mouth desperately. One of his arms flailed out toward the nightstand and came back with a small bottle of lube and a condom. He pressed both in James’ hand.

“Please.” He whispered urgently, like James wouldn’t do anything he asked at the moment.

James uncapped the lube, pouring a generous amount over his fingers, before pressing it to John’s hole.

He prepped John thoroughly despite the man urging insistence that he was “fine, James goddamnit will you just put your dick in me before I die of fucking blue balls”. Trust John to be the talkiest shit James had ever bedded.

It turned him on like very few things ever had.

Finally, finally, James pressed the head of his cock to John’s hole, both of John’s legs wrapped like vice around his hips, trying to drag him forward.

James took his time pushing in regardless, the sensation of John’s tight wet heat radiating from his cock to his fingers and toes. By the time he was all the way in, he had to stop, leaning his forehead against John’s shoulder.

“James, James, James, please, please, James-” John was whispering brokenly, hips twitching restlessly. James growled and nipped at his collarbone, sliding out ever so slightly before pushing back in, John grunting happily under him.

James started moving, egged on by John begging to go harder, _harder,_ HARDER. Soon enough, James was pounding into him, hands slipping under John’s ass to lift off the bed for a better angle.

John was loud and demanding, fingers grabbing everything within reach, mouth never stopping chanting James’s name, heels digging into the back of James’ thighs.

He was perfect.

James knew he wouldn’t last a lot longer, not with the way John’s mouth curled around his name like it was the only reason language had been invented.

He wrapped his hand around John’s cock, determined to bring him off first, mouth pushing against John’s. Neither of them had the coordination to kiss anymore but they needed to be closer, to touch and breathe the same air and _BE_ together in every way they could be.

John came with a tremble and a shout.

James came with a shiver and sigh.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gently set John back down on the bed, pulling out. John whined in protest, trying to tighten his wobbly legs around James. With a kiss to his chest, James easily untangled himself, taking off the condom and throwing it out.

As soon as he was back within reach, John grabbed his arms, dragging him back in bed. James found himself lying on his back, with John plastered on top of him like a human blanket and no notion of exactly how he got there. He felt John fall asleep, going limp and snuffing sweetly against his chest.

James tangled their fingers together, bringing John’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles softly, before letting himself slip into unconsciousness as well.

 

OOOOOO

 

The next morning, James woke up alone, the thick blanket tucked up under his chin. With a frown, he pushed himself to his feet, trudging out of the room.

He was treated with the sight of a shirtless John standing at the stove with his back to him. James softly walked up to him, wrapping his hands around the delicious curves of John’s hips.

“I wanted to make us breakfast in bed.” John said with a point of frustrated fondness in his voice as he flipped the eggs he was cooking.

James hummed in answer, nosing his way past the mess that was John’s bedhead so he could press a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

He felt John shiver and lean back against him. His mouth stretching into a grin, he let his fingers dip under the waistband of John’s sweatpants.

“Well, nothing’s stopping us.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Comment are always appreciated!  
> Come fuss over Black Sails with me on my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/grumpyslytherin


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